Away from the light
by Sylvie Orp
Summary: Doyle learns some lessons in love


Bodie saw Doyle throw himself in front of the child they were meant to be protecting as the bullets started flying. She'd run off in terror once they'd been ambushed, Doyle in hot pursuit of her. He'd tackled her to the ground under a hail of bullets. Bodie's second glance their way showed that he hadn't got up and wasn't firing back. This was meant to have been a clear run to the safe house with the family. The child recovered herself after a few moments and it was fortunate that Bodie was still taking glances in their direction while, at the same time with his colleagues somewhere, trying to get the better of the gang. He'd felled at least two. He thought there could be a third somewhere. The child got uncertainly to her feet behind Doyle's body to find her parents.

"Down!" Bodie yelled in case there were still gunmen.

She obeyed instantly, flattening herself to the ground, her hands over her head, pressed against Doyle's back. Bodie waited a few more agonising seconds before ignoring his own advice and breaking cover to take the risk of racing across the short expanse of lawn to his mate. The child was sobbing, but no further shots were fired. Bodie noticed his colleagues emerging from their hiding places and the parents looking frightened and anxious, trailing behind them; fear for their only child outweighing fear for their own safety.

Bodie lifted the girl from her hiding place behind his friend's body. It was clear that the girl was ok, physically at least - scraped knees excepted. She was relieved to see her parents on the horizon, but she was already forgotten by Bodie. He had higher priorities.

"Ray?"

Bodie gently rolled his partner on to his back. Doyle instinctively drew his knees up to ease the pain. He looked at his friend as blood saturated his shirt. "Not again," he whispered. Utter despair flooded his mobile face. He closed his eyes again in defeat. He'd had enough.

"Just hold on, mate," Bodie said urgently as he reached for his radio to summon help.

Child and parents ran into each other's arms and were soon locked in an unbreakable embrace. Bodie heard her whimper as her mother hugged her. It seemed that her arm was hurting, and then he noticed minor bleeding, torn jeans and bruising. Doyle's tackle hadn't been gentle. Bodie's colleagues looked on anxiously, taking in the family as well as the casualty at their feet.

"How bad?" Wilson asked as he saw Bodie's hands submerged in blood.

Bodie refused to answer; he didn't want to put it into words.

In the ambulance Bodie held Doyle's hand as the medic gave him oxygen. Tears began to seep through Doyle's eyelashes as he began to lose consciousness again.

"Hay fever," Bodie explained irritably to the medic tending him, though no question had been asked.

Bodie was met at the hospital by Cowley. "Well?" he barked anxiously.

"Bullet wound here," his agent explained, pointing to his lower left side. Cowley guided him to the canteen and left him there for a while. Bodie was about to get up and find out if there was any news rather than looking for his boss, when he bumped into Cowley returning with a couple of plastic cups of orange juice.

"Boiler's on the blink," Cowley explained, setting them down on the nearest table. He settled opposite his agent, "I spoke to the consultant and he reckons Doyle has a chance if he holds on to that strong will you say he has."

Bodie went cold. He put down his orange juice slowly. He remembered that look of over-whelming despair in his friend's eyes. Doyle wasn't prepared to go through another injury again. He explained none of this to Cowley of course and tried to keep his emotions in neutral and his thoughts to himself.

"He'll make it," he said, trying to keep his own spirits up.

"Drink up," Cowley ordered, finishing off his own juice.

Bodie obeyed and they trailed to the surgical ward to await developments there. As they got out of the lift, Bodie had to cling to a door frame as dizziness snuck up on him suddenly.

"All right?" Cowley asked, taking Bodie's arm gently.

"Just a bit giddy, that's all." Bodie felt that he should know if he'd been injured - shouldn't he?

"Have you had lunch?" Cowley asked. Bodie was baffled at the question.

"No. There wasn't time. I don't think I'm suffering from starvation, sir."

It was now late afternoon. '_Damn'_ Cowley thought to himself. '_The one time that Bodie doesn't feed …'_ He was guiding his agent along a long corridor to the wards. Bodie had expected them to keep going, but Cowley pushed him into a relatives' room before they reached the main ward. Unseen, Cowley nodded quietly to a member of the medical staff who nodded back in acknowledgement.

"Why are we here?" Bodie's words were becoming slurred.

"I didn't know you hadn't eaten, lad. That's a first, isn't it?"

Bodie was getting angry and confused. He was still fighting his unexplained and sudden fatigue as Cowley pushed him onto a cot. He just wanted to find out about Doyle. That was all he could cling on to as the ground seemed to shift and heave.

Cowley confessed, "I slipped you a Mickey Finn. You're exhausted after all the long runs you've done these past weeks. The last thing for you is to spend useless hours at the bedside. I need you rested, _then_ you can tend to Doyle."

"Bastard," Bodie slurred before he collapsed.

Cowley straightened him out on the bed, removed his shoes, and dragged a blanket over him. When Cowley left the room he approached the senior nurse, Wilks, whom he'd nodded to earlier.

"Let him sleep, and let me know Mr Doyle's progress."

Wilks promised updates on both men. She had Cowley's contact number on her files.

Cowley was just putting his coat on to go home from the office after a long and trying day when Wilks phoned to say Bodie was still in a deep sleep. He'd been carefully moved to a side ward, as the relatives' room was now needed for an emergency. Doyle's surgery had gone well. The small bullet had gone through a gap in the ribs, nicked a major vein and exited through the back, narrowly missing a vertebra. In the intervening hours, Cowley had learned a little more about that bullet's last journey. It had left Doyle's body and spent its last reserves on bruising but not penetrating the girls' arm who'd been cowering behind Doyle's body. That held up Bodie's report that Doyle had flung himself in front of the girl when the firing started. Cowley was both proud and concerned, but he'd keep those thoughts to himself. Wilks promised to keep Cowley further updated.

Bodie woke slowly. He looked around him and decided that he was in hospital; a side ward. It took a few moments more for the drugs to clear his mind and let him think. He recalled the shoot-out. His overriding memory was of his friend lying on the ground, blood pouring through his shirt, and the look of utter despair as Doyle realised that he'd been seriously injured again. Bodie knew for certain that Doyle simply couldn't try again. He was tired of hospitals and injury and convalescence. Last time, it was Bodie who'd been injured and he'd joked with his partner that Doyle didn't have the monopoly on State Registered Nurses. Bodie smiled at the memory. His mind cleared some more and he sat up. He was confused that he should be in hospital as he didn't remember being injured, and even more confused when he turned back the covers and saw that he was still dressed in his day clothes. Then he remembered Cowley drugging him, and how easily he'd been duped. He pressed down on his anger; what had been done had been done. It was time to move on. He looked around and noticed his jacket draped across a chair and his shoes neatly placed underneath. He got up and waited for the dizziness to ease. His stomach reminded him that he hadn't eaten for some time - but what time? Was it still 'today'? And what of Ray? He cursed Cowley again. He needed to be with Doyle, to hold his hand and give him the strength he needed. How much time had he wasted here in this hospital bed? He checked his watch. 2.35 didn't tell him what day or whether Cowley had altered it for reasons of his own. Bodie felt in his pockets for his wallet, gun, etc, and was alarmed to find nothing at all. He wrested open the bedside locker and found most of his personal effects there. There was a short note from Cowley saying that he'd taken charge of 'other items'. A quick inventory told Bodie that this meant his gun, holster and ID. Having put on his shoes and jacket, and reloaded his pockets with his effects, he set about the important stuff. He quickly found a member of staff and was directed to Doyle's side room. Bodie was relieved that he hadn't been directed to Intensive Care.

"How is he?" he asked a nurse who was checking her patient's vital signs.

"Are you a family member?" she asked cautiously.

This told Bodie more than the nurse had intended. "If you don't tell me, I'll get it from Major Cowley," Bodie snarled. His fear was making him angry.

Subdued, the nurse told him that Mr Doyle's wound was not life-threatening in itself.

"What the hell does that mean?" Bodie asked, anger still rising. He wanted to shout, but knew that was the last thing the patient needed. He was sorry he was cowing the nurse, but he needed answers - fast.

"In short, it means that he doesn't seem to be trying very hard to get well," she said, her own anger making itself known - whether at her patient or himself, he couldn't tell. "I'll find the consultant," she snapped and left before Bodie could interrogate her any further.

Bodie drew up a chair next to his partner's bedside. "Well, I seem to have blown any chance with her, mate. She says you're not trying. Why doesn't that surprise me?"

Before Bodie could say any more to his unconscious friend, the consultant entered. Bodie got up to shake his hand. The doctor looked very tired. Bodie knew he couldn't take any more temper out on innocent parties. They were only trying to help.

"Mr Doyle had a single bullet wound. The bullet entered here," he said, pointing to Bodie's side. That much the agent knew. "And left here," he said, pushing Bodie so that he could point to a place just to the left of the spinal column. "He's lost a lot of blood but the bullet missed vital organs and, significantly, made no damage to the spine. The surgery went well but he's in shock."

The consultant seemed to want to say more but was hesitating. Bodie waited. The doctor sighed, and then continued. "A young, fit man like him should be making more progress than this, Mr … er?"

"Bodie," he provided. He didn't know how much to tell the doctor and decided that it was too complicated to tell him what he'd seen - or rather what he'd chosen to interpret - in his friend's eyes on the battlefield. "He takes his time," Bodie said with more confidence that he felt, "but he gets there in the end."

"I hope so," the consultant said, peering at his patient with sad, tired eyes.

Bodie was not encouraged by this prognosis. "I'll sit with him."

"Yes," the doctor agreed, "that may do him good. Does he have a wife or girlfriend?"

"No. I'll have to stand in until he gets one or other." Bodie was trying to make light of a bad situation.

The doctor just hummed non-commitally and left.

Bodie sat back down at his friend's side. "Hear that, mate. The doctor _and_ the nurse say you're not making any effort. What are you trying to do here - make a point, give me grey hairs, or what? Come on Doyle, the doctor says you're going to be ok if you'd just stir yourself."

Bodie got no response. He hadn't expected one. After an hour or so, Cowley came in with sandwiches and coffee.

"I hear that you haven't had anything to eat for nearly 24 hours. Doyle may be used to that kind of regime, but I know you're not. I'm surprised you're still conscious!"

Bodie took the goods suspiciously. He was starving, but wasn't going to be gulled again.

"Not drugged this time, Bodie. Scout's honour." Cowley crossed his heart - and his mental fingers.

Bodie sighed. He was too weary to even attempt to second guess Cowley. He set about the sandwiches and coffee with increasing relish. When he'd finished Cowley ordered him to stretch his legs for a while. "I'll look over him for an hour or so."

Bodie felt he had no choice and reluctantly left.

"Now, lad," Cowley started, taking his agent's limp hand, "what's this I hear about you turning away from the light, eh?" No response. "Look, Ray, I'm only saying this because you'll not remember it when you wake up - and you will, because I'm ordering you to wake up. Got it? I just want you to know how much you mean to us all. Bodie would be devastated if you just turned over and gave up. Have you thought about that, lad? How he would feel? All right, while you're thinking on that, Ray, think about me too. I can't lose you, laddie. I've lost too many friends and colleagues along the way. I know I send you out on dangerous missions. It's what I pay you for and what you signed up for. But for every agent that I lose, I lose a piece of myself, too. Every grave that's on my watch, Ray, is one too many. I'm the one who has to break the news to the relatives that I failed to keep their loved one safe. Don't do this to me, lad. I can't lose again."

Doyle sighed and twitched, but that was as much response as Cowley got. Cowley closed his eyes and prayed at his agent's bedside. As he got to the 'Amen', his bleeper sounded and he swore at it. But the bleeper kept bleeping. He switched it off and sighed. He stroked his agent's face gently and gazed at him with sad eyes before reluctantly getting up to find a phone. As he left the room, quietly closing the door behind him, Doyle opened his eyes and stared at the door.

Bodie had been informed that Cowley had been unexpectedly called away. He rushed to Doyle's bedside, as he didn't want his friend to be alone with his thoughts - if an unconscious man can be capable of coherent thought. Bodie slid onto the chair that Cowley had left several minutes ago. He hadn't asked what the emergency was which had taken his boss away. He took Doyle's hand. It felt warmer and Bodie wondered if the Cow had been holding hands in the privacy of this small side room.

"Have you two been having a heart to heart hand in hand, eh?" Bodie asked. He knew he'd get no response but it still tore his heart to feel that inert hand in his. He sat silently for nearly an hour, his thumb stroking round and round the back of Doyle's hand. A nurse came in to take readings and returned with tea and biscuits.

"Do you think I'm on a promise there, Doyle?" Bodie said with his mouth full and crumbs down his shirt. He'd already explained to his unconscious friend about Cowley being called away and speculating on what the emergency may be. "I bet there's a woman in it some-where," he'd concluded.

Another hour passed, another check of Doyle's vital signs. At least he was holding his own. Bodie sighed in frustration. "Come on, Ray. Do you know what this is doing to me? Can't you at least make an effort? The doctors say that it's not life-threatening, so why do you have to make such a deal about it? There'll be no long stay in hospital, if you stir yourself, no long rehabilitation and convalescence. It's not like last time, mate, I promise. Last time, I thought I'd died with you. I can't remember being that scared when I watched the surgeons trying to drag you back to the living world. I had dreams about that for weeks. But at least you eventually decided that you did want to come back to us. Come back now, Ray. Please. I can't do this any more. I can't sit here with you not wanting to try. I thought we had a partnership, Doyle. I thought you could do this for me." Bodie was beginning to get angry again. It was borne of fear and exhaustion. "For Christ sake, Ray, don't just lie there. God knows what I'd do if you threw in the towel now. You keep me on the straight and narrow. You're the other half of me, God help us. Don't run out on me now."

As last time, Doyle sighed and twitched.

"What's that meant to mean?" Bodie asked anxiously. "Is it meant to mean something, mate? Squeeze my hand if you can hear me." Bodie was clinging onto Doyle's hand so hard that his friend couldn't have squeezed to any effect if he'd wanted to. Bodie felt tears close to the surface as despair set in. He sniffed then dragged his sleeve across this nose and scraped his eyes. When he focused again on his friend, he saw a pair of calm, green eyes gazing back at him.

"Ray? It's Bodie. Do you know me?"

"'Course," Doyle said hoarsely. "Stop ranting. I need me rest."

"Rest!" Bodie exploded. "You've done nothing but bloody rest!"

A nurse bustled in at the sudden shouting. Bodie apologised and the nurse looked at him quizzically but Bodie didn't 'rat' on his mate, who'd now gone back to sleep. Or was he pretending again?

"You've got her puzzled," Bodie reported as the door closed quietly on them. She'd made her point.

Doyle opened his eyes again. "Got you on your toes too. Are you sure you can't live without me?" Doyle enquired sleepily. He was rewarded with Bodie's shocked and shamed expression.

"That's not what I said and you know it!" Bodie hissed, but he couldn't keep a relieved grin off his face - and neither could Doyle.

"Go away, Bodie. I'm tired. I'll be here when you get back from your beauty sleep."

"You better had, Doyle," Bodie replied, getting up reluctantly.

"Promise," Doyle murmured.

As before, Doyle stared at the door when Bodie left. It had been a very instructive interlude. Doyle had been humbled with what he'd heard from the two people closest to him - closer than even he'd imagined.

6


End file.
